


Fog of War

by methylviolet10b



Series: Camera Obscura [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Injury, Prompt Fic, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 19:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11653446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: John was really hoping he was wrong. Written for JWP #29.





	Fog of War

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Not a medical professional or particularly knowledgeable about hospital infrastructure. This is a continuation of Camera Obscura, Unlucky Number, Another Angle, The Job, Prerogative, The Enemy of My Enemy (Is Still A Freak), Calling Card, Well Begun, Take a Flyer, and Hand Made. If you haven't read those, this might not make much sense. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a huge rush. You have been warned.
> 
> Author's Notes: Written for JWP 2017 #29: : Tempting Fate. "What's the worst that could happen?" Use this however it inspires you. The last time we had this prompt, [Dawson had to point out the obvious](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4253901).

Halfway to the door, the lights flickered and then went out. There was still plenty of light to see by – his private room had a window, of all the things – but the emergency lighting did not come on. That was a very bad sign indeed.   
  
John waited by the door of his room for a full minute, then two, half expecting a nurse or one of Mycroft’s people to come in and investigate, half fearing that no one would.  
  
No one came.  
  
Sometimes he hated being right.   
  
He took a breath and eased the door open just a bit. Immediately the sounds of alarums and frantic activity became much louder. He understood it; with the power off and the emergency power not coming online, there were any number of patients who needed immediate attention. There was also some kind of evacuation underway, with the most mobile patients being evacuated first. Again, not a surprise, except that John would have expected himself to be one of those early patients. Evidently his security detail must have had other ideas. He could just glimpse a doctor arguing strenuously with one of the fellows John had seen outside his door several times in the past few days.   
  
John opened the door all the way and marched out to that man, ignoring the startled exclamation from the other person who’d been stationed just outside his door. Internally, he gave these security people (Mycroft’s or the Yard’s, he couldn’t be sure) high marks. Externally, he showed no sign of anything but pure determination. “You’ve got two potential targets to guard. I’m mobile. Greg isn’t. It will be easier to defend us – or relocate us – if we’re both in one place, particularly if you’re down people needed to help in the evacuation.”  
  
“Everyone needs to be evacuated,” the nurse snapped. “There’s been an explosion, possibly a bomb, and an electrical fire reported in the wiring on the second floor.”  
  
 _That explained why the emergency power hadn’t come on_ , John thought, but didn’t say aloud. Living with Sherlock quickly trained him out of the habit of saying anything obvious.  
  
“There’s no immediate threat to this floor,” the security person (John really needed to learn his name, but later) answered. “Doctor Watson, since you’re mobile, I agree we should move you to Inspector Lestrade’s room. Can you help with his care?”  
  
“He’s a patient!” the nurse protested.  
  
“I’m a doctor,” John reminded her, “and I’m well enough that I really could have been discharged before now. You know that as well as I do.” He turned to the security man. “Yes, I can help the Inspector. Let’s go.”  
  
“Yates, on point,” the man instructed the other by the door. “We’re moving to the Inspector’s room. I’ll follow with Watson.”  
  
“Right.” Yates lost no time heading out, and John did his best to follow as fast as possible. It wasn’t nearly fast enough. Fortunately Yates noticed before they’d gone very far, and slowed his pace without his fellow security person having to say a word.  
  
“Not quite as well as you told the nurse, Doctor Watson?” the man asked.  
  
“Just sore and stiff. I’m all right, really. And what’s your name?” John asked, unwilling to keep mentally referring to the man as “the security fellow”.   
  
“Name’s Benton. The Inspector’s in the next ward. You sure you’re all right?”  
  
“I’m sure,” John said mildly. He wasn’t exactly ignoring the muscle tremors in his legs, or that even this short walk was tiring him out.  It just wasn’t relevant at the moment.  
  
The ward Greg was in was a chaotic mess. The patients here were all in much more fragile condition, many with dependencies on medical equipment that was either working on battery back-up or being operated by hand. Nurses and doctors rushed purposefully here and there, and John could hear rapid orders barked out over the other noises.   
  
Yates stiffened as they approached a particular door. John noticed the chair placed just outside, but it was empty. There was no one guarding it.   
  
“Stay here with Watson. I’ll check it out,” he said, and kept moving forward.   
  
John half wanted to follow, or at least get a little closer, but Benton’s glare put paid to that idea. He stayed where he was, Benton right beside him – right until there was an audible clang and clatter from the room where Yates had gone in. Benton sprinted forward, and John followed as fast as he could.  
  
He was just slow enough that he missed being beaned by the hurled bedpan that got Benton straight in the face.  John hastily dodged the staggering man and focused on Lestrade, almost as pale as his sheets, half-canted over in the bed, fumbling for something else to throw. John could see where Greg had ripped out his IVs in his efforts.  
  
“Greg, it’s all right! They’re with me!”  
  
Lestrade froze, eyes wide. “John?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Oh, hell.” The DI slumped with relief, then crumpled back into his bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 29, 2017.


End file.
